" Neither man spoke. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. “Get you a cold one?” “No thanks. ‘You cannot mean General Charvill?’ ‘That old martinet?’ exclaimed Roding. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. Emerging from this aperture, he was about to descend, when he was alarmed by hearing the tramp of horses' feet swiftly approaching, and had only time to hide himself behind one of the largest signboards before alluded to when two horsemen rode up. A familiar figure was making his way towards them. One or the other. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. Now, more than ever, it was time to start running. Remarking that they struck off at a turning on the left, he took the same road, and soon found himself on Paddington-Green. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. ‘Laisse-moi. " To-morrow! She never beheld it.
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